Chapter 30

THIRTY

Maryanne threw open her wreathed front door, all smiles and holiday cheer. "You made it!" As her gaze skipped over Izzy's shoulder to Jamie and Aidan, a frown flitted across her face, but it vanished just as quickly. "And I didn't expect you two! You told me we were getting the green giant," she said to Izzy.

"Well, he's not Ward, but this one"—Izzy backhanded Aidan in the stomach—"is Irish, so he counts as green. And his husband here"—she backhanded Jamie with her other hand—"is a giant, so we can just add them together and call it even."

Maryanne hooted with laughter, and Jamie had to hand it to Izzy, she was quick with the puns and a pro at pretending all was normal. He'd have to ask her sometime if that came naturally or if it was a side effect of dealing with unruly airline passengers.

"That works for me," Maryanne said once her hilarity subsided. She opened the door wider for them to enter. "No Angel and Bev? "

"We needed an adult's night, and they needed a no adults one."

They handed their jackets to Maryanne, who hung them on top of the other coats on the hooks by the door. Counting jackets, Jamie confirmed the small but decent crowd Matt and Rick had already reported to them through their comms, surveilling as they were from a nearby location with sight lines.

"Fair enough," Maryanne said as she led them down a hallway toward the back of the house, holiday music and muted voices drifting in from the same direction. They emerged into an open kitchen and dining area, bottles of wine and charcuterie trays arranged on the table, a gathering of folks milling around on the patio outside, clustered near the outdoor heaters. "Please help yourselves," Maryanne said. "I'm just going to go check the garage fridge for more cheese and meat."

"Can I help with anything?" Izzy asked.

"No, I'm good." Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes, and if Jamie didn't know better, he'd think some part of her regretted what she was about to do. "Enjoy your kid-free evening."

She slipped out the side door, and Jamie reported in through his comm. "Maryanne's making the call."

"No movement at the condo," Berat relayed.

"Kids?" Izzy asked.

"All good," Jamie assured her. "No movement there. You want a glass of wine?"

"Please," she said, the show on pause as she white-knuckled the edge of the island, her arms spread. "Red."

He grabbed a bottle off the table and poured a glass at the island, all the while mentally counting the seconds Maryanne remained outside. "We just gonna wait here for her?" he asked Aidan. "Or go out there?"

"Give her fifteen more seconds."

"She's not coming back."

They whipped around toward the new voice, and Jamie's pulse ratcheted up another notch. Michael Martino stood at the hallway opening, dressed in a black sweater and slacks, hands in his pockets, shoulder leaned against the wall.

At the same time, Matt radioed, "Looks like the party is breaking up."

Or had never been a real party to start. Jamie peeked out the sliding glass door and pretended to be confused by what he was seeing. "Where's everyone going, Martino?" he asked, letting their teams know Michael was on-site, likely smuggled in the same way they'd smuggled in their own backup. They'd known it was a possibility.

"Gave 'em the rest of the night off," Martino said.

"Hired some actors, did you?" Aidan said, dispensing with the cover since it seemed Martino was too.

"This is LA. Plenty of 'em."

"Garage door is opening," Matt relayed.

Aidan moved at the same time Jamie did, stepping closer so they formed a wall between Izzy and Martino and so the island was at their backs, not the garage door where Martino's muscle might enter.

"Sounds like the garage door's going up," Aidan said, not letting on that they were miked up. "Where's Maryanne going? We still want to talk to her."

"We've got a team on her," Rick said, correctly interpreting the order Aidan was also giving them.

"Is William with her?" Jamie asked .

"Negative," Rick said. "She's alone."

"No," Martino answered as well. "He's on a different mission."

"To go after my kid?" Izzy said, pushing her way through Jamie and Aidan's wall. "Again? Don't you think almost ruining his life once was enough?"

As angry as she was, Martino was cool and calm, almost bored. His placid demeanor worried Jamie; he either had more backup nearby or didn't care which way this face-off went. Not good for them either way.

"They weren't much older than your son when this one"—he jutted his chin at Aidan—"and your husband locked up their dad. My brother. Sentenced him to death."

"We wouldn't have had to lock him up," Aidan said, "if he hadn't been fencing goods for the mob."

"He didn't deserve to go to jail for that. Orlando Russo did."

"Is that why you tried to frame him for the cargo thefts against TE?" Jamie asked. "Then for White's murder?"

"If I could take him down too, worth it."

Too . Meaning Russo was one—but not the only one—of Martino's targets.

"So what?" Aidan said. "You've got William going after Russo and Maryanne after Angel? Or vice versa?"

"They know what they have to do."

"Ryan, it's Matthew," Jamie overheard Matt through the comm. "Martino has someone coming after Russo. I'm sending you pictures now."

"But what if we knew what you were going to do?" Aidan asked the mobster in the room with them. "If we'd already figured out who William and Maryanne were to you and Arty?" Jamie recognized Aidan's even tone as a poke, not a boast. He was trying to assess exactly what Martino was after, exactly how far he'd go.

Not a flinch.

Jamie's heart raced faster, and when he caught Aidan's gaze, the same concern shone in his eyes. They were dealing with a loose cannon driven solely by revenge.

Without an exit plan.

Fuck.

"Guess that makes you smarter than me," Martino said with a shrug.

"What was the plan?" Aidan asked as he maneuvered next to Jamie again, Izzy behind them, and shifting so they were a step closer to the patio door. "This can only end one way: with you caught."

"I have a better idea." Michael pushed off the door and withdrew a lighter from his pocket. "All of you pay the price for taking Arty from us."

Confirming Aidan was also one of those other targets, as they'd suspected.

And he and Izzy were in the blast radius.

Because if Jamie figured right, this house was about the same age as Aidan's old one in Redwood City. Meaning it likely ran on natural gas—the pilot light, water heater, and heating unit in the attached garage that Maryanne had just gone out of. If she'd released gas into the house or there'd been carbon monoxide already, they wouldn't smell it. But that lighter in Martino's hand, when flicked, would ignite it.

Fuck. Fuck!

Aidan must have made the same calculation when he'd started moving them toward the patio door.

They made another step in that direction, and Jamie asked a different question, buying them more time to reach the exit. "So was it ever about Angel? Other than to lure Aidan into this?"

"Oh, I planned to make you feel the loss of the kids too, including the girl you two have gotten so attached to. But Russo sent his pet rock star and said they were off-limits. Under his protection. Fine, they can feel the loss of all of you. Means I don't have to drag this out any longer."

"Including your own life?" Aidan said. "Because if you flick that lighter and there's gas in this house, it all goes boom, with you in it too."

"I'm a dead man anyway. Rock star told me that too. So I made the arrangements I needed to. William and Maryanne will be taken care of. Nothing left to do now but avenge my brother."

There'd be no talking Martino out of this, no negotiating, no bringing him in. He was determined to die and take Aidan and Izzy with him. And Jamie promised to do anything to protect his family.

So when Martino flipped open the top of the lighter and moved his thumb over the spark wheel, Jamie didn't hesitate. Grabbing the closest wine bottle, he chucked it as hard as he could in Martino's direction, distracting him the precious few seconds Aidan needed to wrench the patio door open, before the blast hurtled them the rest of the way out of it.